


a shitty peterick fanfic because it was my friend's birthday

by theyoungv_eins



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M, SO SORRY, basically pete wentz is a creep who shows up at people's houses and gives them soup, basically this is shit and a little rushed and i didn't really revise on any of it, bc my friend ships them and i love gabe saporta, but i'm really lazy, mentions of willaim beckett bc i was gonna have gabe in it too, sick!patrick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 13:21:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5929933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theyoungv_eins/pseuds/theyoungv_eins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete thinks Patrick is cute, even when he is a little sick.<br/>Basically this is stupid and uneventful and I hate it</p>
            </blockquote>





	a shitty peterick fanfic because it was my friend's birthday

**Author's Note:**

> A very slightly late birthday present for my friend, because she's the reason I'm Peterick trash

Patrick sneezes for the tenth time in three minutes when Joe suggests that he might’ve caught a cold. Patrick just scoffs, waves his hand dismissively. He changes the topic, and they forget about it.

His nose starts running the next day, while he’s walking to school. It’s a cold Friday morning, so Patrick just assumes that it’s because of the temperature. He keeps walking and forgets about it.

Apparently, the only person who thinks that Patrick isn’t sick is Patrick. During English, William turns around in his seat and asks him if he was still going out to Joe’s. “Y’know, if you’re not too sick to go.”

“I’m not sick,” Patrick hisses. He tries to sniffle discretely. His nose is still running, even in the heated room. It’s really starting to get on his nerves how many people have asked if he’s sick, or told him to get better soon. He’s _fine_.

-

So, as it turns out, Patrick is maybe a little bit sick. He’ll still deny it, of course, but he’s accepted it. He’ll go to Joe’s, and then he’ll take the rest of the weekend, when his cold reaches its worst days, to rest and get better.

He shows up at Joe’s place wrapped in a thick coat and three scarves. He tells him that it’s just really cold out and shuffles inside. Joe points him to the garage, introduces him to the people he doesn’t know. Patrick is polite, smiles and shakes hands. He sits down and takes the beer that Joe hands him. He zones out from conversation and focuses on trying not to start coughing for five minutes straight.

Pete keeps looking at him. They’d both spoken a few times, but Pete had never really paid special attention to him like this before. Patrick looks around in confusion, just in case he was looking behind him. There’s nothing there. When he looks back, Pete is smiling widely at him. Patrick blushes and looks away, sipping his drink. He ignores how odd the whole thing seems.

Apart from Pete, only a few people really pay him much notice until he sneezes particularly loud and hard, and then everyone’s looking. “Excuse me,” Patrick mumbles, burying his face in his scarf.

“I told you, man, you’re sick,” Joe says. He points at William. “Didn’t we tell him?” William agrees.

Patrick just keeps on denying, shaking his head. “I’m not,” he says. He busies himself with cleaning his glasses. “I wouldn’t be here if I were sick.” He crosses his arms stubbornly and makes a point of ignoring everyone.

He’s half asleep and maybe very slightly tipsy when he notices Pete re-entering the room from God knows where (Patrick didn’t even see him leave) and sitting down in his spot opposite him again about half an hour later.

When he looks at Pete a little while later, he’s watching him again. Patrick’s cheeks feel a little hotter, but he doesn’t look away from him this time.

Patrick knows about Pete Wentz. Of course he does, because _everyone_ knows about Pete Wentz. Joe took him to an Arma Angelus show once, and Patrick wouldn’t necessarily say that they were bad. At least, he wouldn’t say that to anyone’s face, and especially not Pete’s. He ended the night pleasantly buzzed, and he had a good time. That’s all that really matters to him, in the end. If he was invited to another show, he’d probably go along.

Joe offers Patrick another drink, but he politely declines. There’s no point in him having a cold _and_ a hangover tomorrow morning. He doesn’t hate himself, thank you very much. “I think I might just go home,” Patrick tells him.

He coughs on and off for ten minutes when he gets outside.

-

When Patrick hears the doorbell ringing from downstairs, he groans, coughs, and rolls gracelessly out of his bed. Wrapped in his duvet, Patrick carefully makes his way downstairs. He almost falls over about five times before he finally reaches the front door. He opens it, and there’s Pete Wentz, grinning with a plastic bag in his hands. He wasn’t even aware that he knew where he lives. “Um,” Patrick says. Pete pushes past him without an invite. “Um,” he says again.

“Wow, Patrick’s house,” Pete says. He looks around, making Patrick nauseous with how quickly he’s moving. He’s looking at one of Patrick’s old school photos. Patrick blushes, embarrassed. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”

Patrick ignores Pete and grabs his arm, dragging him away into the kitchen. “Why do you know where I live? What are you doing here?” His voice comes out scratchy, nasal, and a little painful. He whines a little, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You’re sick, right?” Pete says, completely ignoring his first question. Patrick opens his mouth to speak, but Pete cuts him off before he can talk. “It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone that you’re not completely fine. I brought you soup and medicine.”

Patrick shivers and wraps his duvet tighter around himself. “Thanks, I guess,” he says quietly. It’s kind of sweet of him to do that for him. A little bit creepy, but sweet nonetheless. He tries asking again. “How do you know where I live?”

Pete shrugs, grinning wide. “I have all sorts of connections,” he says. Patrick knows what that means.

“I’m going to punch William next time I see him,” Patrick hisses. He stops to cough a little.

“Stop talking, you’ll hurt yourself,” Pete says. He turns around to rummage through the drawers, eventually producing a spoon. He grins, seeming especially pleased in himself. He makes Patrick sit down at the dining table and pretty much forces him to eat the soup he brought. It’s take-out chicken soup, the good kind. He hopes Pete didn’t spend a lot of money on it.

Pete puts his hand on Patrick’s forehead and clicks his tongue in sympathy. “You should take a bath.”

“You’re acting like my mother,” Patrick grumbles, stubbornly. He tries and fails to hide his blush. “I’m eating the damn soup, what more do you want?”

He feels kind of bad until Pete barks out a laugh. “Wow, sick Patrick is _mean_.” Patrick gives up on feeling bad and scoffs.

They don’t say anything more for a while after that. Pete looks around for a while before sitting down next to Patrick.

“Where are your parents, anyway?” Pete asks.

“Out,” Patrick says simply. They’d both gone to a relative’s place. Patrick thanked every God he could think of for the excuse to stay at home.  

“Aren’t they worried that you might _die_ or something?” Pete asks, eyes wide like it’s shocking that Patrick’s parents would leave him by himself with a cold.

“You’re kidding. It’s just a cold, don’t be stupid.”

Pete shrugs. “It’s happened before, you know. I’ve heard of it. It’s nasty shit, man.”

Patrick just stares at him. “You do know that I don’t have AIDS, right?” he says. For some reason, he’s not entirely convinced that Pete knows that he doesn’t. “I’m not going to die, so don’t worry.”

To be fair, his mother was quite concerned about leaving Patrick by himself. He insisted that he was okay to be on his own, and she left the house reluctantly. Patrick loves his mom for worrying about him.

“Thank you for the soup,” Patrick says. He feels bad for not finishing all of it. He tries to stand, but his legs feel weak and he just falls back into his seat. He’s tired enough to not even care if he just fell asleep right where he is.

Of course, Pete jumps to the rescue and helps Patrick up. “I’ve got you,” he mumbles, leading him out of the kitchen and to the stairs. He takes him up them one at a time, since Patrick said that he _definitely_ wasn’t allowed to carry him up, what the hell?

Patrick points Pete to his room and he helps him inside. He’s too tired to care that his room is messy, and that Pete probably thinks that he’s a slob now.

Patrick gets into bed when he asks Pete why he’s here, other than soup. Pete just shrugs. “I think you’re cute. Even if you’re sick.”

“It’s not nice to objectify,” Patrick mumbles, pulling the covers up over his face. He’s blushing again, and it’s gross. How many times is Pete Wentz going to make him blush?

Pete laughs. He leans closer to Patrick, smiling wide. Patrick feels his heart beat a little harder. “Don’t worry, I like you for more than just your looks,” he says quietly. Before Patrick can figure out what’s happening, Pete leans forwards and kisses him on the mouth.

Patrick kisses him back until he has to pull back to breathe. “Um,” he says quietly. He can’t decide on anything to say, (“What the hell?” “You’re gonna get sick, too,” “Holy shit”) so he decides not to make a big deal of it. Pete just smiles and tells him to go to sleep. He happily obeys.

-

When Patrick wakes up feeling a little better the morning after, with a note on his night stand. It has a mobile number on it, and the words “ _if you need more soup”_ in messy handwriting. He finds himself smiling like an idiot to himself for the next week.


End file.
